


entropy

by thalassic



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-11
Updated: 2014-03-11
Packaged: 2018-01-15 09:08:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1299433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thalassic/pseuds/thalassic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He bares his teeth at Chris, and then smiles. “Do you dream about my teeth closing around your throat?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	entropy

**Author's Note:**

> this is a pre-slash drabble with peter and chris. if you want to read super gay in between the lines then please do because i ship it. otherwise there's not much of a romantic pairing. (please imagine they totally smooch after this scene)
> 
> peter is my favorite character and i am totally not ashamed of that. tumblr is thalassiq.tumblr.com

The problem with Peter Hale is entropy. It’s not his fault, really, it’s just the laws of the universe at play. When he stares too intensely or forgets to reel himself back in, it’s really just a reaction to his natural state. They should know better than to push him at this point, it just puts everyone on edge. He’s been alive for long enough now that his presence is no longer a surprise, but not enough for everyone to have fully come to terms with it.  
  
Sometimes he’ll pop into a conversation like a ghost. Derek will tense, Stiles will ogle nervously (well at least he used to, it’s not Peter’s fault he’s not part of the group powwows anymore, he had to go and get himself possessed by a nogitsune) and Peter will patiently wait for someone to acknowledge him. Still somehow always disappointed with the response, like there’s something he’s waiting for and no one is giving it to him.  
  
Really there would have been nothing surprising about catching Peter and Dark Stiles (Fox Stiles? Evil Stiles? All of the nicknames sound so overdone but Peter can’t help but feel a little pretentious everytime he says _nogitsune_ like he’s suddenly some expert on Japanese mythology when they live in Beacon Hills, California and the closest he’s ever been is one time in Alaska at that sushi place downtown when he was little and on a family hunting trip) sitting there and having tea together. They both slotted in so perfectly wherever chaos found itself.  
  
Everyone is still expecting him to snap. It’s a surprise, to say the least, when he turns out to be the only sane wolf sans Scott in Beacon Hills. There is Something Wrong with the others, and the nogitsune has successfully fled from Stiles’s weak malnourished teen body. (“Well let’s be honest, he could have done so much better than you in the first place,” Peter had said comfortingly. “He probably won’t come back.” No one appreciated his kindness.)  
  
The power has been off for a few hours now, and night has hit like a five time boxing champion. Peter is perched at the window, having helpfully offered to take watch. Chris Argent is next to him, because someone has to watch Peter while he’s watching the road. It seems a little counterproductive, when Argent could be angrily polishing guns or sharpening wooden stakes in the kitchen.  
  
He says as much, and Argent just responds with an unamused grunt.  
  
“So did the apartment catch fire before or after my nephew collapsed in a pile of blood that you swear you had nothing to do with?” He’s trying to keep his tone light but everyone knows the sound of entropy in his voice, Argent finely in tune to any sense of threat.  
  
The hunter tightens his grip around the gun he’s not-so-subtly had pointed at Peter for the past thirty minutes. “He didn’t leave me much choice. I don’t need to tell you that he escaped unharmed.” It was true. After Derek had risen again, angrier and rabid after his brief little tumble, it had been Chris who had reached the lighter (and the doorway) first. His apartment was full of nothing but blackened ash now, and Derek had jumped out a window in typical overdramatic werewolf style.  
  
Chris didn’t like being reminded of the failure. “You didn’t bring it up just to talk about sensitive subjects.”  
  
No. Peter didn’t.  
  
“Is it a theme with you Argents, setting my family on fire? Or were you just feeling nostalgic?” Peter’s grip on the window frame tightens imperceptibly and then loosens once more. He turns and smiles at Chris, genially.  
  
Chris doesn’t lower his gun. Peter doesn’t seem to mind. There’s a heavy silence hanging in the air between them now. Peter, like always, is the first to break it.  
  
“Relax, Argent. I’m actually one of the good guys. If you all would stop wasting your time mistrusting me, you’d know that.” Peter remembers days before the fire, and he remembers the scent of Christopher Argent. Somehow it’s comforting. It reminds him of better days.  
  
He bares his teeth at Chris, and then smiles. “Do you dream about my teeth closing around your throat?”  
  
Chris lowers the gun with an annoyed sigh, and sets it on the nearby table. “Your voice is giving me a migraine, Hale. Keep your eyes out the window.” Peter shrugs and turns his attention back to the outside world.  
  
The only sound in Scott’s house is soft snoring from the other rooms and the oppressive tick of a clock in the kitchen. Peter gets up quietly, and when he returns the ticking is gone.  
  
Chris manages not to ask for a total of five minutes, which he considers pretty good.  
  
The answer he gets surprises him. Peter looks to the side, his mouth a thin line, his eyes tired and mean, and says, “It reminds me of the hospital.”  
  
They haven’t talked about it. Argent is only recently a part of this makeshift group they’ve made (he’s so loathe to consider himself part of anyone’s pack) and Peter isn’t the type to want to talk seriously about anything.  
  
Chris remembers the Alpha. He just has a hard time thinking of Peter in the same way anymore. There’s something sad and injured about this wolf. Chris wouldn’t hesitate to put him down, but his mere presence doesn’t feel like an affront to the code. It hasn’t in a long time.  
  
“Were you awake?”

The question seems to startle Peter, if startled looks like the smallest quirk of eyebrows and a slight tightening of lips. Peter laughs.  
  
“For what? Being burnt alive the first time? For years trapped inside a body with no way out? What do you want to hear Argent, that I screamed for someone to come and kill me and no one heard?” Peter looks tired. He looks angry. He doesn’t look like Peter.  
  
Chris points his gun at him again like he thinks maybe that will help, and it does. The anger goes out of Hale’s eyes; they crinkle at the corners in an amused smile.  
  
“I should hire you a personal masseuse. You’re too tense.”

“How considerate. Will you kill her and put her body in the trunk too?”  
  
Peter throws his head back and laughs. It sounds like a howl. “I might.”

Chris doesn’t blame Peter for being the way he is. It’s not his fault, not really. You can’t fight entropy.


End file.
